Tip of the Tongue
by Elbei
Summary: /In many ways, Sharon's concept of the world was changed that day./ In which Sharon wishes to learn the art of s-wordplay, and convinces Break to become her un-willing teacher. A focus on the Rainsworths, particularly on the developing relationship between Break and Sharon over the years.
1. The Words She Said

**A/N: **Slightly A/U in some cases. This is the rewritten first chapter after I decided to change the direction of the story. Sharon learning how to use a sword, novel-wise, is canon. Check out Caucus Race Story of the Rainsworths: White Kitty

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**Tip of the Tongue**

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**The Words She Said**

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There were happenings within the Rainsworth manor that were not to be discussed. Sharon had learned at a very tender age that if she was to become a lady fit for such a prestigious name, there was a regiment of decorum to be followed. One of which was that small children were meant to be seen, not heard—and as such Sharon had spent her early childhood observing the comings and goings within the Rainsworth manor.

One of her earliest memories was of roses.

Shelly Rainsworth had been rather fond of them, and so one afternoon a very young Sharon borrowed the only pair of scissors from her mother's writing desk, stole away through the manor, and traversed the pebble strewn path leading to the gardens with the intention to cut a fresh bouquet for the lunch table. As all children do at times, she became distracted.

The gardens were a wonderous place in a four-year old's eyes—and Sharon had stopped to inspect an errant leaf, bent to pocket a white stone, and daintily scrutinized an opening bud. Later on when she would finally arrive at the neatly manicured rose bushes, she came to the conclusion that she just could not decide whether her mother would approve of the yellow roses or red.

She had tarried there for a long moment when she finally made a decision. Small fingers ran clumsily over a particularly large canary yellow bloom, and just right when she brought the scissors up to snip at its stem, a lulled conversation coming down the path caught her attention.

Children were meant to be seen, not heard -but Sharon concluded for that instance the latter was more beneficial and that she didn't want to get caught red-handed with the scissors Mother told her not to touch. She quickly hid behind an ivy wall, pilfered scissors tight in her grip, as the voices grew closer.

She had recognized her grandmother's voice first, but the other was one she'd never heard. It was a man speaking in a lilting tone, with just a tinge of an accent that she could not place. She peeked through the ivy and regarded the pair curiously. The _gentleman_, she surmised from the sheen of silks and pristinely pressed linen of his attire, was young—younger than her grandmother anyway—with a fiery mane sweeping down his back and slanted, sleepy eyes.

Sharon found him strange, and wondered why Grandmother touched his wrist so fondly, and why the man stooped to whisper something in her ear, and why the older woman then let out a low feminine chuckle.

Sharon watched as the gentleman pressed a single crimson rose into her grandmother's palm.

Feeling she'd seen enough, the child quietly backed away and ran in the other direction towards the manor. When Sharon arrived at her mother's quarters empty-handed save for a pair of scissors, and when Mother admonished her and asked where she had been because their lunch was now cooling upon the patio—Sharon had remained tight-lipped and taciturn.

After all, children were meant to be seen, not heard.

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Later on in her life, Sharon would come to understand the meaning and context behind that small intimate gesture.

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Shelly was a Rainsworth woman and knew that, while there were things that needed to be said aloud, some words were meant to be kept inside one's heart.

At nineteen she had held herself with humble grace and dignity when rumors of an affair between her and the family footman began to circle the society parties. Shelly had neither denied or acknowledged them, and some believed them to be just that—rumors, but when the corsets became too cumbersome and no amount of fabric could hide the telltale sign of her rounding shape, the baby slowly growing larger in her womb became a scarlet letter she was willing to bear.

The Duchess knew from the beginning. Facing her mother within the confines of the older woman's study had been daunting. Trying to find the words to explain herself was terrifying. Yet, the most wrenching part of the ordeal, was the fact that Cheryl Rainsworth demanded she tell her who the true father was.

"I told you, mother. The baby is Mister Bernard's," she had insisted.

Her mother scoffed then. "Bernard, the footman? You expect me to believe that man came close enough to touch you? He barely says a word."

"Well, he does speak," Shelly had supplied, succinctly.

But the Duchess was unmoved. "Do not lie to your mother, child. It is unbecoming."

Shelly had stared straight-faced underneath her mother's scrutiny.

"We are going nowhere with this, so either you tell me who the father is or whence the child is born it will be sent to Sablier's orphanage."

"...You wouldn't do that, mother."

"Would I?"

Shelly shook her head and returned with resolve, "No. You'll come to love this child, just as much as I."

The Duchess balked. "Don't make assumptions—"

"Have you ever wished to protect someone, Mother? Regardless of circumstance?" Shelly interjected.

Her mother frowned. "Yes. Your father. That's the difference here, however. An unwed woman with child—do you not see the repercussions you have set upon yourself, Shelly?"

Later the Duchess would commend the serene façade Shelly had easily slipped into. Now, however, her mother held a stern look, hand ghosting over the edge of her fan.

"Don't play this game with me—I am getting old, and I don't have the time to be beating around like this. Bernard is not the father, that much I know. Tell me who it is now, as my previous offer still stands."

Shelly ignored her warning, and rather off topic she replied, "Was it only father who you loved?"

Cheryl observed her daughter, posture rigid, gaze piercing. She knew, then, where this conversation was going. Shelly had hoped as much. Her mother was a Rainsworth woman, and kept secrets in her heart as any one would. If need be Shelly would take advantage of that.

A bated moment passed before Cheryl's face melted into something with a semblance of pity.

Overwhelmed, the Duchess sighed. "What are you doing, Shelly?"

Shelly sensed her mother's defeat and she had smiled then, a tentative curl of the lips pulling wistfully up, and she said finally, "I'm doing what is right, mother. What's right."

"...I would hope so."

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Sharon Rainsworth was born in late spring and Shelly had been right. When she laid eyes on her exhausted, yet beaming, daughter with the mewling babe in her arms, Cheryl gaped and felt her heart swell and brim.

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It would be two years later, after a spring shower and as the afternoon sun warmed the grounds, when Cheryl Rainsworth strolled along the pebble strewn path towards the rose bushes with a tottering Sharon at her side. The gardeners were about, milling over the blooms and picking up debris leftover from the brief storm, and the smell of freshly turned earth did not evade her nose.

It so happened that as the pair rounded a corner, little Sharon did not see the sack of soil lying across her path. Unable to catch her fall, Cheryl cringed in the second that her granddaughter stumbled and then swooped down instinctively to calm the wailing toddler.

"Oh, no!" a young male voice exclaimed dreadfully from above. "Is s-she all right?! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I should not have left the bag there, Madame. I'll move it right away."

The Duchess placated softly, "Don't fret. She will be fine," she darted a consoling look at her grandchild. "You'll be fine, won't you? Hush, now."

Cheryl ran soothing circles upon the child's tiny back. All the while the gardener observed, stricken and nervously fidgeting from one foot to another. After a few minutes, Sharon whimpered and then slowly quieted. Cheryl beamed. "There, now."

Mollified, the young man made a move to leave with the bag of dirt in his arms. "I'm sorry just the same, Madame."

"It's alright, with children things like this are sure to happen," she replied, sagely.

"...I-I see...good day then, Madame."

When Cheryl looked up to bid the gardener goodbye, she had started. A peculiar and melancholy smile graced his young face, and he was peering at the child in her arms with a certain softness in his gaze.

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What was most peculiar, though, was the pale rose color of his eyes—much like little Sharon's.

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_There were happenings within the Rainsworth manor that were not to be discussed._


	2. Interlude I

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_**Interlude I**_

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When Kevin Regnard was a child, he remembers hiding behind his mother's dress, while at the hearth his father spoke in hushed tones with an unrecognizable man. The last clutches of autumn chilled the air as another harsh winter closely approached, and the two men warmed themselves near the fire as a roasting duck rotated on the spit.

Kevin remembered listening keenly, while his mother fussed in the kitchen. He knew she was listening, too.

"The boy is ready," he had heard the man say. "He's close enough in age. Better now than later, when his milk teeth have all fallen out."

"He's still too young...too young," his father reasoned. He had a habit of repeating himself, and would often forget little things—like words, or where he'd place something, or even his own son's name. The repetition helped.

Kevin had cowered, when the visitor then cast a quick look towards him and his mother.

"I see your wife is with child again. It won't be long before the babe becomes another mouth to feed. With this little plot of land you have and another winter coming, _why not_ just give us the boy?"

Upon his retirement, Kevin's father was bestowed a small strip of farmland by their lord, Roman Sinclair, and back then it was enough for his small family at the time.

But now...

Mother was running a palm over the swell of her belly, and Kevin was not sure why her other hand gripped his own so fiercely.

"I just—it's just..." his father shook his head, and then also threw a look their way. He continued, "It's my wife, you see. She's...attached to the boy. He is her first born, after all. I'm afraid if you take him away now she will suffer the most, and we don't want to risk losing the babe she's carrying."

The man eyed his father. "You've gone soft, old friend."

"Aye, aye. Putting down your sword...and also a woman's love, will do that to you. It'll do that to you..."

And the man laughed then, full and robust. "I will keep that in mind."

Later after a meal, more pleasantries, and old stories, they finally agreed that in a year's time, before winter came again, the man would return. Kevin would only be six years old.

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The mentor he served was an older fellow, well worn by the years with a hardened face and a grating alcohol-hoarse voice. Though despite his age, the knight was strong and seemingly built for a life of the Order, and Kevin had learnt early on that his apprenticeship would be a strict one.

While in his pagehood, Kevin had been quite the delinquent. He was often found sneaking an extra loaf of bread from the kitchens, or hiding in the stables with some other young page, or skipping lessons to spend time with the scullery maids since he missed his mother. But a beating or two solved that later on. The first time, he had cried rather harshly. Not even his mother had ever struck him in such a way. So when the boy felt the harsh slap of a scabbard upon his knees, he could only sob pitifully while the old knight sneered at him from above**.**

"Stop your weeping, boy," the knight had said, raising the sheath again. As a child, that had only made him cry harder. "I said, _stop_!"

The memory of hardened leather upon his backside never left him in those first few years. Soon enough, as all things come to be with time, he only ate what was given, the stables weren't so accommodating, and the cheerful coos and calls from the young maids who marveled at his oddly colored hair—and as equally oddly colored eyes—did not seem so inviting.

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He remembered the first time he held a sword. As a newly appointed squire, just a boy on the cusp of adolescence, the feeling of that blade within his grasp was exhilarating.

"Hold it steady, Regnard."

"Yes, Milord."

And when he made that first arching swing, and listened to the steel sing and slice through air, Kevin couldn't help the self-satisfied smirk that touched his mouth.

"Good, good."

Everything was falling into place.

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As it so happened, he became quite skilled, and as it so happened -he stuck out because of it. Compared to the stockier, intimidating squires from different Houses—Kevin was lithe, graceful, strong despite his frame, and also exceedingly clever.

But most of all he was _fast—_so much so, that by the time his opponent could even _think_ about parrying, he was already slicing at their neck.

Kevin Regnard had a quick tongue and an even quicker blade, and the other squires soon knew better than to cross him. The old knight sometimes was his only confidant, although usually it was always a lesson to be heard, or a jeering suggestion, or unwarranted cold silence.

In certain cases, it wasn't his skill or wit that was memorable. Sometimes his eyes left the more lasting impression.

"You see that one squire there?"

"Y-yes, I do."

"He's got red eyes. _Red. Eyes."_

"...What of it?"

"There are sayings about people born like that. Bad things, _evil_ things. Things like the Abyss."

"...We better steer clear of 'im, then."

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...Those years, admittedly, were quite lonely.

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**A/N:** This chapter was inspired by the photograph of Break as his younger, boyhood self in the cover page of Retrace:LIV Blank Smile. I just about died when I noticed that was him. He looks so moody, hehe.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pandora Hearts.


	3. In Those Moments

_"In a Wonderland they lie,  
__ Dreaming as the days go by,  
__ Dreaming as the summers die;_

_ Ever drifting down the stream  
__ Lingering in the golden gleam  
__ Life, what is it but a dream?"  
_

—Lewis Carroll, excerpt from  
"Life is but a Dream"

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**In Those Moments**

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No one would question just how the seven-year old Sharon found a strange man lying near the Door to Abyss. Instead soon after help came, she had been whisked off by her young caretaker, while the servants quickly set to carrying the man to the manor's makeshift infirmary. In the many years since the Rainsworth family had acquired the door, never had anything so disconcerting ever occurred.

To Madame Shelly, he was a mystery.

He called himself Xerxes Break, yet both the Duchess and herself had the suspicion that this was not his true name. Whatever reason he had for concealing his past was his own, and Shelly was not one to pry into people. She could not think ill of him or pass judgement. After all, she had her own secrets to bear. No one questioned that side of him, at least not openly or in the presence of the either women, so the past would remain his alone.

Some did question the reasons behind Duchess Rainsworth allowing him a permanent place within the estate. Who was he, for both the Duchess and her daughter to have accepted him so easily—so openly and warmly—without regard of exactly who he was? Some thought of it as an ill omen; a man with stark white hair forcing his way out from the Abyss, half his face awashed with blood, certainly could not bode well. The other servants were undoubtedly afraid of him and, as if sensing this, he slowly shrunk more into himself, choosing to silently wait out his days there for an outcome just as grey and dark as his anonymous past.

But Madame Shelly would not allow that.

Spring was approaching and that particular day was rather balmy compared to the winter months, so as Shelly arranged a lavender shawl around her daughter's shoulders, an idea came to mind.

"Come, Mister Break. Would you accompany us on a stroll?" she invited.

Sharon was already clamoring at his side. "Yes, yes. Please join us, Xerx-nii!"

An idle red eye flickered to the child at that hapless moniker. Unperturbed, the man nodded in acceptance, and her girlish chattering filled the moments in between their trek from the parlor to the thawing lawn of the estate. Once the trio reached a bend in the path, Sharon's gaze fell upon the archway towards the gardens and the girl merrily went her way, an impassive Break following close behind her.

As the quiet man attended to her daughter, Shelly would take that moment to note the rigid line of his back, a sweep of frosted hair tied loose on his shoulder, and the softening of his gaze when the child plucked a closed winter blossom for him to see. She had been pondering the enigma that was Xerxes Break, who's unprecedented arrival still continued to spout whispers of ill ease and mistrust, when Sharon stumbled over while beaming a gap-toothed smile.

"Look, mama! Xerx-nii did it for me."

Sharon turned her head to the side and there so daintily behind her little ear was a white bud. What caught the woman's attention though, was that the flower had been placed on the left, not the right, which was customarily meant for someone who's attached. When she pointed out on it, Sharon grinned, eyes flashing.

"Oh, but I am," she pronounced. "Xerx-nii is mine, and I am his."

In the mind of the seven-year old girl, the man that she herself had found was very much hers, and Shelly did not have the heart to correct her. Across the ways, Break stiffly took in the girl's brazen words and, obviously having realized his error, a slight tinge of scarlet stole across the bridge of his nose.

Shelly then said conspiringly, "Well then, I suppose a wedding is in order."

She noticed Break's startled stare and hid a smile.

"Why a wedding?" Sharon asked with all the innocence of a child.

"When two people belong to each other, it's only right for them to be married just as well. Don't you think so?"

Her daughter tilted her little head, considering that briefly. "I suppose...but mama, I want to marry a prince."

"Oh dear. A prince? Now where would we find one of those?" Shelly's eyes danced and fell upon the frozen man not so far away, "But look—doesn't Mister Break look so dashing? _He_ could be a prince."

At the mention of himself, Break had turned his back and Sharon took the opportunity to fall in step beside him. Peering up with an appraising eye, she asked hopefully, "Are you a prince, Xerx-nii?"

Shelly almost laughed at the look of aghast that crossed his features. Then his terse, solemn reply had been, "No. I'm not."

Her daughter pouted, disappointed with that answer. "Oh..."

Maybe it was the way Sharon's hopeful face had so helplessly deflated which urged him to placate her softly and simply. With all the seriousness and sureness that only Mister Break could muster, he stated:

"I was a knight."

Shelly was certain that his words were true. Whatever possessed him to reveal that little niche of his past, she would consider for days later, but in that moment she could only regard the pair, brows raising at his confession.

Sharon, however, looked absolutely taken.

"A knight! He's a knight, not a prince, mama!" she gushed, voice raising. Turning excitedly to him, she asked, "Have you ever rescued a princess? Or slay a dragon?"

He shook his head. "Afraid not, Milady."

"Well then, what kind of knight were you if you didn't do any of those?"

A long moment passed and Shelly would note how his posture became taut. She wisely intervened. "Perhaps he's just not the princess saving, dragon slaying sort. Knights did many other things, dear. For instance, they upheld a code of chivalry and stood by their lord or lady. They were brave and loyal, and very much admired."

At that explanation Sharon had grown silent, touching the flower behind her ear. "But they don't marry princesses," she surmised.

Shelly understood what her child was trying to convey. She added lightly, catching Break's slight incredulous look, "Not usually, no. They do, however, protect them and always stay by their side, that's their duty as a knight. Isn't that just as perfect?"

Another moment passed and then Sharon sprung to life, vigor renewed as she came to a decision. With one delicate and tiny hand, she took hold of Break's gloved one determinedly. The white-haired man was beside himself, uncertainty etching its way along the lines of his face at that simple, innocent touch. He glanced at Shelly, who watched with hidden amusement, then gave the child his utmost attention at the tug of his hand.

Sharon announced confidently to him, "Xerx-nii, you're my knight now. So you'll stay with me forever, alright?"

He only stared, astonishment written across his face.

Break remained quiet for the rest of their walk, hand in hand with Sharon as she continued chatting amiably, her mother watching them with keen eyes and a knowing smile from behind. He would nod, listening intently, all the while the chill in his eye melting away, and by the miniscule upturn of his mouth and the tightening of his grip around that tiny hand—which was slowly and surely pulling him out of the grey and dark—Shelly knew what his answer had been.

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And so, the years passed leisurely and quietly. Sharon was growing before his eyes, height inching upwards (past his hip and then nearly at his chest!), her eyes became wise (and sometimes crafty...) like her mother's, and the baby-fat around her cheeks thinned where prominent cheekbones were beginning to show. What had happened to the tiny girl who would tug at his pant leg and stare up at him so admiringly? She had been replaced with a blossoming lady, who secretly had quite the fiery temper and was deathly apt with a paper fan in ways that he'd never experienced before (all thanks to the Duchess).

And then...one day, he realized that his lady no longer called him her beloved 'Xerx-nii.' He was _just Break _now, because 'she was grown up and could just die if anyone heard her still calling him that.'

Break lamented over dwindling days filled with childhood wonder; playful blooms plaited carefully in silver and strawberry-blonde hair, puppet shows with bears and dolls (then later a ragged, wide-eyed smirking 'Emily'), and high tea with imaginary (but delicious!) Earl Grey steeping in dainty porcelain china...

Honestly, he would miss it all, but would never admit it out loud.

The long years brought about change and he concluded that he had changed too, if not outwardly. He changed from a man who could stare at that beaming child and not feel a whisper of her warmth, to a man who would trade anything to keep her tears at bay just for one smile. He changed from a hollowed shell willing to spend his days broken, unseeing and unfeeling, to a man who kept his only eye wide open—unwilling to miss anything—because good or bad he would see it through.

Yet most of all, he changed from a desperate man who had sacrificed his soul to the devil, to one with blinding purpose, seeking out his redemption. If he should ever find it, Break was still uncertain, but he would be forever grateful to Madame Shelly's persistent kindness, and especially Sharon's ever present smile, that salvaged him from ruin.

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The summer of her eleventh year was a memorable one. In those warmer months, Sharon spent most of her time outdoors, accompanied by Break and sometimes Liam, when Duke Barma didn't require his attendance. Those days were always filled with raucous laughter and much merriment, usually (unfortunately for him) at the expense of poor Liam. Break's antics, with her quiet approval egging him on, always riled the teenage boy and she would giggle at his scandalized expressions and sputtering speech.

"Mister Liam, I was merely kidding," Break would say, his customary sly smile in place.

In the past, that smile wasn't always there, but Sharon could not remember when exactly it had replaced his former brooding countenance. She enjoyed this side of him better. He was...happier. At least she liked to think so. When he was not attending to whatever business he had at Pandora, (and honestly, what kept him there, so? She would really like to know.) Break was by her side, always upholding the silent promise that was made years before on a chilly day.

His existence there gave her reason to be happy.

Just then, Break's tittering laugh jarred her train of thought. A beet red and exasperated Liam spouted off how Break was being 'indecent around the young miss' and, 'what would her mother say, if she were to ask what a—' at that part he had whispered behind his hand, so she didn't catch it at all '—really was.'

Sharon only smiled unknowingly, while Break gave a flippant shrug. "_Stuffy, stuffy Liam. He's no fun!"_ Emily piped.

In that moment, Liam was not having any of it. He had always disapproved of Break's jokes—sometimes they were lewd ones, but Sharon was still too naïve to understand them, so Liam knew they were for his ears alone—and the gallant, albeit flamboyant, displays of chivalry towards the young miss.

_"Princess, allow me to slay this dragon in your name!" _

Said dragon, of course, always being the tempestuous boy.

In the shaded grass where they waited out for the hot afternoon sun to pass, Liam would sputter as Break expertly brandished his sheathed 'cane,' and Sharon would laugh as the young man lamely fetched a fallen branch in his defense.

Break eyed him and loftily mocked, "I see the dragon has some fight in him, today."

"Be serious, Xerxes," Liam admonished. He shakily tested his stick. "I just don't want you chasing me half ways across the lawn...like last time." That part had been said with a scowl.

The odd man chuckled. "Oh, but Liam, it looked like you were having so much fun then."

"_You_ were the only one having fun. I ended up_ drenched!_" Liam fumed.

"I apologize," and Break hadn't looked the least bit sorry. Then he added playfully, "I just figured that you needed a dip in the pond. It was awfully hot that day."

Seated prettily on a picnic blanket with Emily, Sharon watched the exchange with laughing eyes and when Break noticed her attention, he twirled his cane in a flourish. Despite his age, sometimes the man acted as if he were a little boy. Sharon wanted to roll her eyes at his haughty grin.

What a show off, she had thought.

Instead she called out, "Go easy on him, Break," with her own sly grin hidden neatly behind a hand. "Mother will be angry if you hurt Liam."

Poor Liam was turning colors, pride wounded, and he nervously adjusted his frames.

Break only waved a frilled wrist her way, ignoring her warning and continued with his flowery speech, _"My lady, stand back as I purge this foul beast from the world." _

Liam didn't even have a moment to register the man speeding his way, before a cane swiped at the air centimeters above his head.

A sharp cry escaped Liam's mouth and he bit back curses at Break's laughter. Sharon watched as he almost stumbled when Break then swiped again, this time at his neck, while feeling as though she should stop them prematurely before someone (namely Liam) was injured. She was excited nonetheless for the opportunity to watch Break's skill at swordplay. He always was so fast and concise, never breaking a sweat or appearing tired, and with a sword in his grasp he did look pretty dashing. She would never admit that last thought to him, though.

As the knight dueled the dragon for his lady's favor, Sharon would laugh and clap, taking delight in the display. Liam seemed to have held up well as he blocked most of Break's swings, but she could still tell that the boy was becoming winded and was slowing with each parry. Break kept up an amiable air, not the least exerted with one hand casually behind his back, and Sharon knew that only served to frustrate Liam.

"You're not going to get anywhere with just blocking," Break enlightened his young opponent.

Liam only gasped as Break then jabbed at his shoulder with enough force to push him back. He collected himself and managed to grate out, "Sorry to disappoint you, but I spend my time doing my _work_, rather than playing silly sword fights."

Break lashed at his neck. Liam quickly evaded by a hairsbreadth. "Heh, you're playing a _silly sword fight _right now, Mister Liam—and losing, at that. Come. Attack me."

Spurred by that taunt, Liam lunged and Break merely side-stepped at the very last moment, grinning all the while. Unable to stop his momentum, the boy stumbled and as the finishing move Break clipped his ankle with the end of his cane, sweeping him clear off the ground.

From above, Break smirked as Liam ate grass.

"Too slow, Mister Liam."

Sharon was already worriedly making her way over. As she helped her former caretaker up, ('Oh dear! Liam are you, okay?') she sent Break a warning look. "That was a cheap shot, Break. You should apologize."

"Milady, I was merely showing the boy...strategy."

"Strategy," she scoffed. "You're just being cruel." She tended to the bleary young man at her arm. "Mister Liam, do you want to sit down there?"

Not waiting for him to accept, she led him to the blanket and made sure he was fine. ('It's nothing, Miss. Just a wounded ego...') Sharon then purposefully stalked up towards her servant with all the menace that an eleven year old could gather. Break was unaffected, as he always seemed to be, and that annoyed her more than she cared to admit.

Then an idea came to mind.

Sharon picked up the stick.

Break tilted his head, watching his young mistress with growing amusement.

_"Fret not, dear dragon, I shall avenge you and bring back your honor!"_

A long noiseless pause filled the lawn.

"Um...Miss Sharon, you don't have to—" Liam began.

"Hush, dragon," Sharon ordered.

And then Break laughed. And laughed, and laughed. He laughed until his sides hurt, because they must have with the way he was holding himself. He laughed until her ears burned and as her eyes narrowed in on him. He laughed until she was before him raising the branch to strike at his temple.

It didn't land, of course. Even in a fit of laughter, Break could still thwart any attack. Sharon stomped her foot, outraged.

As his laughter subsided to a chuckle, Break gave her a disbelieving look. "That's just rich, Milady. I couldn't possibly go up against you!"

"And why not? You fought with Liam," she argued.

"Well..."

"Don't say it's because I'm a kid! I can handle my own, just watch!" She pointedly raised her stick.

Her boldness was lost on him, though. Before she could growl another word out, the man swooped his cane, and the stick clattered dully on the grass. Sharon stood agape, disarmed in every way.

Break eyed her. "That's why, Milady."

"You..._you_!" was all Sharon could say, hands clutching at her summer dress.

In a flourish, like everything the man seemed to do, he swept her up bridal-style as she screeched a girlish squeal. Mortified and pushing back, her head reeled as the man spun and twirled, all the while his bright laughter rang out.

"Put me down! Down, I say!" she cried, though she could not stay mad at him.

Soon her tinkling bell-like giggles joined him in the clearing. Break slowed then, smiling down handsomely at his young mistress.

_"Fair, fair Princess. A sword is not meant to sully hands as beautiful and delicate as yours. Instead I shall give you roses..."_

In the shaded grass where they waited out for the hot afternoon sun to pass, Sharon would sputter as a knight laughed at her reddening face and a dragon would cover a wayward grin at the spectacle. Those days were always filled with raucous laughter and much merriment...

And she never wanted it to end.

"Let's stay like this forever, Xerx-nii," Sharon would say quietly.

And Break would pause, the moment passing in silence while he stared softly at her (for it'd been so long since he heard that name uttered so gently...) and then he laughed heartily, his chest vibrating against her and the sound warmed her to the tips of her ears.

Neither had known that in a few years, those words would herald true and Sharon's adolescent body—but never her mind, nor her heart...—would remain forever cemented and untouched by time.

.

.

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_In one's life, there are moments of great happiness and, alas, great sadness. _

.

.

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They would come to learn this soon.

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* * *

**A/N**: Review? Tell me if you enjoyed Sharon's blatant idol worship of Break. What can you expect, she's a kid...I'd adore him too, in that situation.


	4. She Was Shaking In That Pew

_There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back  
__** Well tell her that I miss our little talks  
**__ Soon it will be over and buried with our past  
__** We used to play outside when we were young,  
**__** And full of life and full of love**_

_ Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right  
__** Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear**_

—Of Monsters and Men, "Little Talks"

* * *

_._

_._

_._

_Little girl, little girl...come down and see._

.

Sharon heard a voice.

It caressed at the fringes of her mind in a heady, silky tone, and in a daze she followed the whispered instructions that would lead her through a gilded corridor she'd never been allowed to enter...

.

_Come, come. Don't be afraid. _

.

Down, down, down the shadowy steps, and then...

.

There was a Door—

_See, see..._

—and there was a man.

.

_...who is he?_

To no one, she would ask.

.

_He's a friend_.

The voice replied.

.

Sharon blinked, finally coming to and not knowing where she was—

"How?"

—and the silken voice had grown quiet when her gaze alighted upon a body on the stone floor.

.

("Please hurry! Someone's collapsed here, covered in blood!")

("—Wait! Miss Sharon!")

.

.

.

**She Was Shaking In That Pew**

_._

_._

_._

Break had always been an elusive man, but to Sharon it was all the more reason to worry.

"It's nothing, Milady. Just an errand," he had told her that evening.

Indignantly, Sharon watched him prepare to depart for another _'errand'_ at Pandora, hands wringing the fabric of her dress. This was her Xerx-nii, she cared about him and his well-being. Which was why he ought to tell her everything! Not because he was a servant, but because...well just _because._ This time there was no call for him so she assumed he was leaving out of his own volition, and right before dinner, too! Obviously he hadn't meant for her to find out, but she was smart enough to listen to her instincts which urged her to seek him out.

"I'll be back soon," he tried to assure her.

"You always say that," she huffed.

"I do? Hm, I hadn't realised."

"Don't be daft."

Sharon was old enough now to know many things, especially when Break patronized her. She wasn't a little girl anymore, but he still coddled her as if she were still seven. In his eyes she was still too young for him to treat her seriously. Would he ever? Sharon hardly thought so, and he always made sure to remind her.

_Children shouldn't be so nosy._ He'd told her, a while back.

It was still infuriating, though her anger quickly dissipated when Break gave a rare apologetic look.

That red eye always compelled her.

"Keep Emily company for me? The poor dear gets awfully lonely."

If he was leaving Emily behind, that must have meant he would be gone for a while.

Her heart sank.

"Alright."

"I promise I'll come back soon, Milady," he placated, patting her cheek lightly in an effort to lighten up her souring expression.

It wasn't helping, he would realise in the moments she gave him a narrowed look, and the man released a tired sigh.

"Why do you always have to go, Xerx-nii?" she asked.

When he didn't reply, Sharon felt her eyes grow misty with fat tears.

Embarrassed, she turned away. Sharon knew he was never good in these situations. Before when she was little and he was just getting accustomed to his life in the estate, a pensive Break had always frozen up at those first shed tears and sloppy sniffles. He'd steer her towards her mother, mumbling of his shortcomings with such displays.

_I don't like it when they cry._

Even to this day, as much as he didn't want to admit, Break only had enough tact to handle a sword or deliver a scathing remark, but never console a weeping girl. Already, she noticed how his gaze flitted uneasily about, searching anywhere but her face.

His eye finally settled on her hands twisting harshly at her dress, a habit that she'd yet to break out of.

"Sharon, stop."

He 'tsk'ed, brushing her fingers away from the fraying satin. It distracted her momentarily, but a tear still slipped down to her chin. His mouth was set grimly as he placed a calming touch upon her hands.

_Stop. Don't ask me of this._

"You'll ruin it."

This was her Xerx-nii, and she cared about him and his well-being. So when the time came to send him off, she made sure her eyes were dry. That evening he patted her head, gave a kiss to Emily, and then disappeared within the confines of the carriage.

Her mother was waiting near the doors, and spoke when she reached her. "Such a worry-wort, that one. He's like a mother hen."

Although Mother alluded to her otherwise, she didn't want to make him worry. Sharon, in her evening dress with Emily tucked in her arms, only curled a small hand in goodbye and watched as his carriage crossed the threshold of the gate. In the last second, his pale hand shot out of the window, giving one last wave before his carriage disappeared behind an outcrop of trees.

"Come, sweetheart. It's getting cold out." And Mother sent her away.

She slept fitfully, that night, dreaming of missing white knights and secrets she was too young to understand. In the morning, Break was still expectedly absent, so Sharon had a quiet breakfast with just her mother on the patio, while a staring, wide-eyed Emily was perched in his chair.

.

.

.

_Little girl...little girl..._

.

.

.

She remembered it was a cloudy Sunday morning, and the gathering parish, consisting of nobility and commoner alike, bustled within the stained-glass windows and stone walls that made up Reveille's most prominent cathedral, in an effort to escape the impeding rain. Once seated and pleasantries aside, she'd spent the better part of that morning counting the number of times a young priest stuttered during his sermon, straining to hear when the storm outside began to beat against the thin pane of glass. Next to her, a silent Break kept an eye ahead of him, and while she tried obediently following along a passage the priest quoted, he'd left his own Bible decidedly shut.

"At least open it," she whispered.

He flipped it open to a random page, though he still had the gall to utter, "I don't see the point."

If she could hit him, she would, but now was not the time or place. Blithely, she remembered that one of her grandmother's acquaintances was seated in the pew behind them. One rap to the side of his cheek, and tongues would wag for months. Rather than physically reprimand him, Sharon chose to turn her voice sickly sweet, certain that the honeyed tones would sure enough set the man on edge.

"And why not?" she demurred. She was getting pretty good at that, Grandmother would be proud.

Break shifted, perhaps a sign of his unrest, she'd thought, but when she turned slightly to throw him a look, she caught the smirk he was trying to hide behind a white laced sleeve.

"Only because I've memorized most of it, anyway."

Sharon gave pause. Break, in any form, had never appeared to be the religious sort. Although he'd taken to accompanying her in that month—on account of her mother's health that left her in bed for those few weeks—Sharon thought it safe to assume that he was only humoring her while serving as her escort. She did not mind so much, she knew he had his reasons, although it was still shocking to learn of his rapt devotion to remembering all the text.

"If I recall, I was eight when I started citing it from memory."

Sharon stared in disbelief. She could barely say a few passages aloud.

"You look surprised. I'm dismayed to think that you pegged me as a heathen, Milady."

She flushed, not realising he was joking. "I didn't—I mean, no. I just assumed that..." she trailed off, at a loss.

You just never showed any interest, was what she wanted to say, but Break had grown quiet and returned to leering at the helplessly nervous priest at the pulpit. The rest of the service she spent trying to think of a way to make amends, and even when it was time to leave, she still could not think of a way to broach the subject again.

Finally, long into the carriage ride home, she gathered enough of her wits and nerves, to just blurt out a hasty apology.

Break only gave her that incredulous look of his.

"What for?" he had asked.

Which was entirely ridiculous. Had he forgotten already? Sharon realised in the very last moment, from the easy grin slipping onto his mouth, that he was toying with her. Again, she held back the urge to hit him.

"I just didn't know," she explained. "You've never mentioned it, is all. But knowing that now," she was just a tad hopeful, she'd admit, "perhaps you'd like to accompany Mother and I to Mass?"

"Don't misunderstand. I've studied most of it, that does not necessarily mean one is devout."

"You don't believe in God?"

There was no persecution in her tone, just warranted curiosity, and when she was certain he would not answer—he'd taken to gazing out the carriage window—Break quipped lowly, barely loud enough to hear,

"I do, but I'm afraid He's overlooked me."

She was shocked. He sounded so...lonely, vulnerable, even. Here was a person who she'd looked up to _because_ he was so sure of himself. Yet, it suddenly occurred to her, that in the years that she's known him, this man had never truly opened up to her in this way. It made her a little bit uneasy with how to respond.

"...I don't think so," Sharon said, gently. Then more confidently, and she was glad that her voice didn't waver, "I don't think He would."

Break turned. Something within that red eye stilled, then in an instant shuddered and thawed. It only lasted for a moment, but she saw it and gathered in within herself, nonetheless, tucking it away safely. Sharon told herself that he had never looked at her in such a way, either.

And then he shrugged, nonchalant, the spell already broken. "You're free to think what you like."

Sharon was not offended. It was so like him to say that, though one unbidden thought still came, and before she could stop herself it had formed into words.

"Do you believe in Hell?"

She almost regretted it, as the sharp bark of his laugh startled her. "So inquisitive today, Milady..."

"I'm sorry." She really was, she hadn't known where that'd came from. Still, out of all the adults she knew, among them he was the most perplexing. That was saying a lot, since when it came to the world of nobility, eccentricity did not seem wanting. She couldn't help but ask questions.

Sharon nervously licked her lips and pale eyes veered outside, choosing to inspect the heavy rain, rather than the confusing man across from her. She hadn't realised her hands wringing her dress, until the tip of his cane tapped against her knuckles, and she let the fabric fall to her lap.

Break cleared his throat. "To answer your question: Yes, and no."

At her stagnant gaze, he continued.

"You're probably old enough to know this already, but I'll say it anyway... Besides eternal damnation, there are things just as terrible out there, on this earth."

And like an afterthought, he said, "One doesn't need to go to Hell in order to have their soul torn apart. You'd be wise to remember this."

He sounded as if he knew from experience. Mouth parting and confusion evident on her face, she asked breathlessly, "How can there be anything more terrible than—?"

His eye had grown blank, reflecting on something she could never imagine, maybe not in her lifetime.

"You'd be surprised."

"So...surprise me."

Break shook his head,"I think I've said enough," obviously not liking where this was going, while an errant chuckle escaped his mouth.

His unexpected moods were concerning, and Sharon did not quite understand what he'd meant by any of those words. When she said as much, he shook his head again, mumbling something along the lines of, "Your mother would kill me."

Their conversation ended on that note, and just as well since they were rounding the bend that led to the estate. The rain was not letting up and unfortunately that was a day they had forgotten an umbrella, so Break quickly fashioned his overcoat above her head. The navy dress she wore still became drenched at its hemline as they hurriedly made their way inside the manor's foyer.

As she fussed with her bunching skirts, a maid breezed by, informing her of the Duchess's summons.

"I wonder..." Break murmured, tilting his head in thought, but Sharon was not paying attention.

Rather, she had lamented out loud that she would not be able to present herself properly to the Duchess. Her hair was mussed and her dress was spotted with rainwater.

"Oh, I look a mess!"

But Break was not paying attention.

She noted how his wet hair clung to his chin, yet he didn't seem to mind it as much as she did. The dark overcoat he'd chosen to wear and consequently used to shield his lady from the bad weather, now hung limply in one arm and a nice puddle formed on the floor. He was too consumed to notice the dismayed scoff a maid let out at the sight.

Sharon worried at him, "At least dry yourself. You'll catch a cold."

"Ah. Yes, I'll do that."

In the foyer, after he'd dried his dripping hair, Break helped arrange her dress and cleaned the mud off the tips of her shoes. She was tempted to bat him away, as he clucked and coddled over her, as if she couldn't fix her own self. But as he lifted a finger to swipe a stray strand of hair off her cheek, Sharon saw a peculiar look on his face, one that she hadn't seen since she was younger.

"I forget sometimes," he began.

Was it her, or did he suddenly appear wistful? His moods changed so erraticlly, Sharon could not keep up.

"What?" she prompted, eloquently.

"...that you're growing up."

Sharon felt the urge to roll her eyes. "Of course I am. I will be the Duchess of this House one day," she declared, not worrying if she sounded too boastful, he was the only one there.

His smile—not the condescending one, or the unsettling, disturbing one—but the soft, rare curve of his mouth that she was certain only she'd been honored enough to witness, compelled her.

"When that time comes, just promise you'll remember what we talked about today."

And he'd said that quietly, like a secret, only loud enough for only her to hear.

"I will, I promise," she whispered back.

He surprised her, then. Tilting her chin up, so that he could see her face fully, Break confessed, "I wish you could stay this way forever."

And Sharon did not know what to say.

Flustered and confused, she hurriedly excused herself, while a musing Break watched her leave.

.

.

.

They'd plan to tell her when she was older, fifteen—seventeen at the latest, before she truly became an adult. Shelly, though so adamant in her wishes (_I wanted her to have a childhood_),could not deny the fact that her health was taking a turn, and the Duchess could not afford the loss of Eques.

"If it came to that, one of the servants could form a contract."

"No. It has to be her."

"But why?"

The Duchess had remained silent.

When the day came, Shelly asked her chambermaid to help her down the long corridor to her mother's study. She wanted to be there for her daughter. She wanted to let her know everything would be alright. She wanted her presence to be a pillar for her little girl.

S_he's wanted so many things in this life._

_If only..._

Shelly was a Rainsworth woman, but with all her short years and all the practice she's had at hiding her thoughts and feelings, she could not sweep away the underlying dread that skimmed along the expanse of her eyes when her daughter finally arrived.

Sharon, so perceptive for her age, noticed it right away.

"Mother, what's wrong? Why are you out of bed?"

The Duchess intervened. "Your mother's fine, dear. Come closer, there's something very important we must discuss."

And Shelly watched as the light in her daughter's eyes slightly dimmed.

.

.

.

Chains.

Contractors.

Pandora.

The Door.

Abyss...

Everything. It all came together.

In many ways, Sharon's concept of the world was changed that day.

.

.

.

It was becoming habitual, him leaving in the middle of the night and then returning before the House awoke and the servants set about their morning duties. He would traverse the darkened hallways, still untouched by morning's light, passing the corridor which led to the Rainsworth womens' apartments, and into his quarters situated not far off.

In the silence of his room, Break untied the bloodied fabric around his neck, letting it fall aimlessly onto the floor. Staring at his reflection, he noted mutely, with a detached clinical eye, the speckles of crusted blood on his chin that he had missed in a vain attempt to it wipe away. Instead he had done an awful job in his haste, and the copper was garish against the faded palor of his skin. A water basin was set upon the table and he scrubbed his face until it felt raw, and the color of the water no longer shone the white milky shade of its porcelain container, but rose—pale and light.

It reminded him of Sharon's eyes.

He shook his head at that image, dumping the water down the drain, trying to erase it from his mind. He failed, of course, and for months Sharon's stare would bore into him every time he tried to find his own reflection in that shallow dish.

A worn winded breath escaped the cage of his chest.

That early morning, in the silence of his room, Break realised that he just might die from this.

There was only so much a body could handle, and even with the appearance of youth, he knew inherently that his time was whittling away.

Just how long _would_ he last?

He didn't want to dwell on that _too_ much.

Instead he would store it in the furthest corner of his mind, up a flight of stairs in the tallest tower, so that perhaps at a much later time he could indulge in the thought that...yes, he was _slowly_ dying, and _no_ he hadn't any idea when his time would come, but it was still very much..._real..._

(He could not—_will not_— admit it to be anything else).

He was not the only one, he assured himself.

Didn't everyone go through those motions?

And when death came, he would just have to take it for what it was and accept it.

—...i_t's no use..._—

Until then...

Well, there was a promise and there was purpose.

That was all that mattered...

.

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_It's no use._

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* * *

A big thank you to those who reviewed. It makes me happy to know that there are others who support Break/Sharon, my OTP! :D Their scenes together in the manga are always heart-warming. They just remind me of an old married couple, haha! As for the romance in this fic (one of you so kindly asked)...we'll just have to see. Sharon has a lot of growing up to do, and Break—he's an old man stuck in his ways...


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